A New Life
by WickedWitch1313
Summary: Sequel to Break Ups and Fix ups. Erica and Callie thoughts that piecing back their relationship would be easy. They soon find out that creating a new life together will take a lot more than just a little R&R.
1. All Hot and Bothered

_A/N: Here it is! The sequel! This is set a few months after the phone call, probably two or three. I was originally going to write opening/ closing monolouges for this story as well but I couldn't iron down a good enough theme. Ah well, forgive its absense and enjoy!_

_XXXXXXXXXXXXX_

A shrill beeping resounded throughout the bedroom, shocking Callie to consciousness.

"I'm up!" she shouted to no one in particular, shooting up to a sitting position. After a few moments of coming to, Callie slowly remembered where she was. She squinted over at the rectangular alarm clock sitting on the end table across the bed. The neon green numbers read 4:45 AM. Callie blinked and looked again. That couldn't be right. No one in their right mind willingly got up at 4:45 in the morning.

Beside her, Erica rolled over, onto her back, blinking sleep from her eyes. She spotted Callie's figure in the darkness and smiled, "Good morning," she said in a raspy voice.

"Why the hell do you have your alarm set for four something in the morning? Where do you need to be this early?" Callie grumbled, rubbing her eyes.

"Nowhere in particular." Erica said, turning so that she lay on her side, propped up on one elbow. "I just like being awake by the time I get to the hospital."

Callie huffed. "That's why God made coffee." She looked down at Erica lying beside her with that incredibly hot look of amusement on her face. She leaned down and sealed her mouth to Erica's. Mid-kiss she groaned. "Ugh, see? Now I'm awake." She sighed. So much for going back to sleep. "I'm going to go steal your shower for a bit." She swung her legs out of the bed, shivering slightly at the sudden lack of warmth. She walked over to the duffle bag she'd brought. Normally, Erica stayed over at Callie's as Callie lived across the street from the hospital but, Christina had started bringing Hunt home with her as well. After the first night of having a sleepy and confused Owen hunt stumble into their room—having mistaken the number of doors back to Christina's room from the bathroom—they'd decided it best to try out Erica's place. Callie grimaced. Hunt still hadn't stopped apologizing for bursting in on them since the incident. As if Callie needed a constant reminder! Though, to be fair, the look on his face as Hunt opened the door not to a sleeping Christina but two of his not-so-clothed attending colleagues had been priceless.

Callie glanced back at the relaxed Erica, still lounging on her bed, happy to watch Callie collect her shower things. It was all she could do not to just jump her right then and there. Callie shook her head. Down, girl, down! She quickly grabbed the clothes needed for the day ahead of her and hurried to the shower.

XXXXX

Erica watched Callie leave the bed with the proud satisfaction of knowing that the gorgeous creature standing nearby was her woman.

Callie looked so adorable it made her silently chuckle. She was dressed in her usual nighttime attire of a t-shirt and boy shorts. She walked as quickly as possible to her bag to avoid the cold.

Erica watched her poke through her bag. She really should set aside a drawer for Callie. She could clear out a section of her closet or something as well. Hell, if she didn't think it was too soon for Callie, she'd ask her to move in with her.

Callie looked back at her and in a flash all Erica's thoughts vanished. All Erica could think of was those eyes, darkening with amorous intentions. Feelings stirred in her of passion, love, nervousness. She was caught, locked in position by the Callie's gaze. It transfixed her, and she let it. Just as she began to consider heading toward the woman at the foot of the bed, Callie surprised her. She shook her head and rushed out of the room, after hastily fishing out an outfit for work.

Erica quirked up her lips in amusement. As Callie headed through the adjoining door to the bathroom, Erica called after her, "Hey, Torres, take a cold one!"

She heard an incoherent sarcastic comeback and laughed. Then, her mind returned to her. Work, she needed to get ready for work. She needed coffee, she needed her purse; a quick list formed in Erica's brain as she got up and headed out to make coffee.

XXXX

Callie stood under the stream of cold water. She knew Erica was joking but, seeing as every time she spoke Callie's knees turned to jello, it seemed like a good idea after all.

It was strange how quickly life had fit back together. Whoever would have thought a simple phone call could make such a difference in her and Erica's relationship. They'd decided to take it slowly, making sure their friendship came first. They wanted to be on the same page. They'd had a few bumps—as to be expected in a new (or newly refurbished) couple—but nothing too drastic or life-altering. And, with their original problems as reminders, they'd found that not only could they retain a relationship but they could be great friends. Erica had even begun to accept Mark as Callie's friend… a little.

Callie inhaled deeply. She really did feel blessed. She felt in sync with herself again—something that had seemed impossible for the longest time, since before George even.

Wiping a few beads of water from her eyes she reached over to turn off the faucet.

It was funny. She couldn't remember a time in her adult life where she had felt this comfortable and calm; this put together. Not even in her honeymoon-hotel bubble with George. She always was freaking out about something whether it was work or life or both. But Erica did that to her, she put her at ease. Callie knew she could take whatever the day threw at her because at the end of it all, she could just talk it out with Erica. It would be okay.

With that last lingering thought, Callie reached for a towel to dry off.

XXXX

Callie walked out into the living room kitchen complex. Erica spotted her immediately, looking up from her magazine with a big smile.

"Coffee?" she offered, getting a mug out of the cupboard.

Callie gave her one of those 'do-you-know-me-at-all?' looks and Erica poured a cupful, chuckling.

Callie accepted the cup, "Thank you ma'am."

"Ma'am?" Erica said an eyebrow quirked up, "Ouch. I'm not _that_ much older than you, am I?"

Callie smiled. She really wasn't. They were only a few years apart. In fact, Callie thought, if she hadn't taken a few years to bounce around options in life, job ideas and specialty ideas, then she and Erica would've been running in that same sphere of super surgeons.

"I uh, did what you suggested by the way." Callie said after a long drink of Erica's delicious coffee. It was hot, really hot. Like, killing all your taste buds hot. She sucked in some cool air. Erica shot her an odd look, completely missing the hint. "The shower?" choked out Callie.

Erica's confusion melted into laughter; showcasing that deep, raspy chuckle. "You didn't actually have to do that, you know."

"Oh yeah I did." Callie said, smirking at her over her cooled cup.

Erica smiled and bumped into Callie with her hip. Callie followed her with her eyes as Erica went to drop off her coffee cup in the sink. Then, Erica came back, a mischievous look on her face. Callie was immediately suspicious. What was she up to now? Erica placed her slim, graceful hands on either side of Callie's neck causing the latter woman to freeze. Then, in a low voice, Erica simpered in Callie's ear, "You really think a simple cold shower will be able to keep me from getting you all hot and bothered?"

It was purposely overplayed and meant as a joke, Callie knew that. It was obvious from the way Erica backed away, laughing. Unfortunately, it was also hot. Really hot. Like the coffee. She loved the feeling of those nimble, expert fingers on her skin. Every nerve was set on fire, each touch felt electric. Callie felt the irrepressible shiver run down her spine. Goosebumps had appeared all over her arms. She tried to play it down, pretending to be unaffected by the ploy but she wasn't doing too well. She guessed by the dimly triumphant look that had crossed Erica's face that the blonde had hardly been fooled. Callie suppressed another shiver. Definitely not fooled.

Erica smirked at her, placing a quick kiss on Callie's lips before she left for her shower, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter. Callie loved that Erica; the Erica not many people got to see. At work, Erica was stoic, presentable and slightly disconnected. She had to be. She was running with the big boys, so was Callie. But at home; at home she was Erica not Dr. Hahn. At home Erica could be flirty, playful, happy. As much as Callie loved to watch the powerful and strong cardio god command legions of residents with a snap of her fingers—talk about hot!—her real love was this: at home Erica. That was Callie's Erica.

Callie looked back to the cup in her hands, reminding herself how to breath. She could the warmth of a blush creeping over her cheeks.

Well sure, _now_ she was hot and bothered…

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

_A/N 2: It's a lot lighter than the first story...for now. I hadn't actually figured out any conflicts upon writing this chapter but not to worry, I have some good stuff (I think) lined up. But, by all means, suggest ideas for the characters, I enjoy suggestions._

_ Reviews are where it's at._


	2. Overcoming Boundaries

_A/N: It's been a while. I have no excuse other than my adversion to typing when I can be and continuing the story. This chapter is quite a bit more fluff, like the last one. I promise you that the story does progress and it won't be all wonderful, happy stuff happening to them but that is for later. Just, also, as a side note, I've decided to have Callie have gotten a promotion to attending Orthopedic Surgeon over the weeks between this and the prior story. I don't know if I covered that last chapter but there you go. Enjoy!_

_XXXXXXXXXXX_

Callie and Erica walked through the doors of Seattle Grace laughing loudly. Interns ran by them, scurrying to complete whatever off-hand tasks they'd been set upon. Callie smiled to herself as a young man shot by her frantically. You really couldn't appreciate the feeling of amusement at the insane word of an intern until you left the dog house.

To think, she was no longer Erica's subordinate either; they were on equal footing. Though—as Erica had often reminded her—they had never really acted liked superior and subordinate. Callie smiled at the woman beside her. No, they were always too good of friends for that.

That, and according to Erica, Callie had always had too much "spunk" to follow anyone's direction.

XXXXX

Mark Sloan looked up from his case file as the two women walked his way. The corner of his mouth quirked up; the party had finally arrived. He pushed himself out of his leaning position against the main desk lazily.

"You two seem to be in a little late today," He smirked, "Did you have something… holding you up?"

Erica raised her eyebrow. He knew she'd never willingly talk about their relationship. It didn't matter that everyone knew, she wasn't about to discuss it. No, she would play hardball until someone wrenched the secret from her cold, dead fingers.

Callie glanced at her watched, feigning naivety. They were definitely up to something, "I have no idea what you mean, Mark. We're right on time." She and Erica shared a look and a smile snuck onto both of their faces. Mark narrowed his eyes. He would grill Callie later for answers.

He didn't actually care about the sex stuff. It was hot and all, sure, but he was more concerned about Callie. He'd seen the post-Erica depression and he never wanted to see it again. He never would have pushed them to get back together had he not seen the look on Callie's face every time someone called her name. So Mark kept an eye on Hahn. He kept an eye on Callie. He used his persona to his benefit. Callie thought he was pathetic for it but she would talk to him. She always did.

"You're on something alright." He sniggered and headed off to surgery.

XXXX

Callie walked out of the x-ray room, her eyes immediately falling on the very irate form of Erica Hahn. Callie stopped. Who had gotten on Erica's bad side now?

She neared them, coming only as close to hear the argument. She knew Erica hated losing control of an intern. Mark liked to boss them around under Erica's nose just to piss her off; an action that Callie had to remind Mark not to try today. With Erica's current mood, Callie didn't doubt Mark would end up on the receiving end of Erica's next surgery.

"I told you to prepare Mr. Stevenson for the O.R. What did you think I meant?" Erica seethed, outraged by the apparent idiocy of the resident before her.

The first-year resident cowered, stuttering and stumbling some pitiful excuse.

Erica threw up her hands, exasperated. Callie couldn't help but grin to herself. The woman was so fantastic. She never ceased to amuse and astound Callie. Each day she did something new; something that Callie knew she was probably the cause of. Erica Hahn didn't usually lose it, you see. She was composed, even in anger. The little physical gesture—or "pissed off hands" as Callie called them—proved that Callie really was rubbing off on her. She was so proud.

Her grin turned to a sigh as she noticed how pallid the resident had grown. If she didn't step in, he was likely to wet himself; something Callie knew she most definitely did _not_ want to see.

"Peters." She barked out to him. He jumped, turning away from the impatient Dr. Hahn. Callie walked over to him, stopping short as she came beside Erica. She shot her partner a placating look.

The resident squeaked out a faint, "Yes. Dr. Torres?"

Callie looked at him and pointed to the patient's room. "Dr. Hahn needs her patient ready for surgery." The kid didn't move. "Go." She said slowly, as if speaking to someone deaf.

He bolted.

Callie turned back to Erica, the latter still massaging her temples. "Why do I always get stuck with the idiots?"

Callie shrugged. "Luck of the draw." She looked at Erica piteously, running a hand down her back soothingly. "You do have Yang. She's brilliant, if annoying."

Erica nodded, closing her eyes. Then, they shot open: two clear, blue spheres focused onto Callie. "You know," said, slowly leaning onto the counter, a mischievous glint in her look. "If someone really loved me, they would trade residents with me. They don't have specialties their first year anyway."

Callie smiled. She figured Erica would try that trick. She moved forward to whisper back, "Too bad that someone loves her genius residents so much."

Erica stood back up, dropping the faux-seduction. "Ah well, it was worth a try."

Callie chuckled. And, heading back toward the Ortho office, she called over her shoulder to Erica, "Try again at Christmas."

XXXX

Sloan looked surlier than usual as he threw his tray down onto the lunch table.

Erica looked up in surprise, stopping mid sentence to Callie. He wasn't usually this angry. She waited a minute, two minutes and finally sighed, resigned. "Okay, Sloan. Spill. What is it this time? Did the nurses cut you off again?"

He didn't even spare her a look of disdain. Erica wrinkled her brow in confusion. That was completely unlike him. Even when he had bad days he still managed to form a retort. He never passed up a chance for a biting rebuttal. She waved an impatient hand in front of his face, "Hello? Sloan? Are you there?"

Callie was watching him, worried. Erica, upon seeing her expression, made an effort to soften up. They were friends. Callie cared about him. Erica had to be there for him for her.

Sloan looked up form his untouched plate of food with a hollow sort of look in his eyes. "I think I killed someone today." He said finally.

Immediately, Erica felt awful. All surgeons knew the feeling, they couldn't help but empathize. Losing a patient was never easy; not when you had been treating them for years nor when you had never seen them before your scalpel sliced their skin. Surgeons carried with them the crux of guilt; a guilt for every life they had felt slip through their fingers. Sometimes, the death was inevitable. The patient's condition allowed for no recovery and the surgeon had to hold onto the irrational guilt of helplessness, of not being able to do anything but watch the patient and their families suffer through the death. Or, if surgery was possible, sometimes the patient died on the table. They weren't strong enough or some incalculable force had overcome the surgeon's unerring skill and stolen away the life they strove to save.

It was never easy to lose someone. It rips pieces of your soul, of your heart. That conniving, unrelenting guilt of knowing that maybe, just maybe if you had been that one second faster, if you had seen that one critical problem sooner, that the patient might be alive.

It kills you.

So Erica empathized. She felt for him, for Mark Sloan. She placed her hand on top of his; a movement she rarely—if ever—made. She comforted the very man she had practically vowed to dislike since the very first day he had decided she was a piece of meat. She comforted him because, when you lose a patient, all the petty little animosities had to disappear. There was no room for anything but grief. Grief, guilt, and every self-degrading, blackened thought that had ever caused you doubt or pain.

Erica comforted Sloan because she understood, because contrary to the thoughts of many other staff members at the hospital, she did care and she _did_ feel.

XXXX

Callie moved to comfort Mark but paused, seeing Erica's hand beat her to it. She smiled at the uncommon gesture. She loved these two people with her whole being, people she knew did not get along on the best of days. She watched Mark's surprised eyes, the shocked glance he sent her way for reassurance. Then, as Erica squeezed his hand, he returned the grip, accepting her offer of silent support. Callie felt her heart leap with a swell of pride at her best friends and loves. They had all at once been both; interchangeably and simultaneously. They were both there, both her loves still, in their own ways. Mark: her pillar of friendly strength, forever grounding her with unrelenting support and patience and Erica: her companion, lover and friend, constantly surprising her and sweeping her off her feet.

Callie hoped, some day, that the two would get over their grudges. She hoped that Erica could forgive Mark the way she forgave Callie and that Mark would, in turn, learn to accept Erica, to get to know her as the wonderful woman Callie fell in love with.

One day…

_XXXXXXXXXXXX_

_A/N 2: No one is more aware of how sopping and corny that ending is, believe you me but it is 3:30 in the morning and my insomnic burst of nighttime typing has slowed to a trudge. I decided just to type up whatever soppy, first-hand stuff I came up with on paper and I did not edit it as much as I'd have liked to. Well, good night. I'm going to go collapse for three-some hours. I'd love a review for when I wake up, though._


	3. Like Yin and Yang

_A/N: It's been a few days. And this one is shorter than the rest but, as a consolation prize, the written chapter 5 is quite long so look forward to that. I though we should revisit Christina. Do notice however, that as she is working and focused on surgery that her personality has a more mature tone. _

_XXXXXXXXXXXX_

Christina watched through the clear glass of the patient's room. She saw Dr. Hahn scolding the resident soundly, becoming more and more frustrated as he continued to show off his inability to take a hint.

She listened to the older man behind her—their patient—whisper assurances to his worried wife. He was telling her not to worry about the surgery, everything would be fine.

Christina stood away from them, discretely turning instead to continue watching Hahn's admonitions. She thought back to a year ago. Then, she would have reveled at the chance to prove her worth. She would have taken it upon herself to ready the patient and wait for the praising that Hahn would surely deliver. But she didn't dare now. She knew that would only piss off Hahn. It was the first year's job, not her's. If she kissed ass, she wouldn't get surgeries. If she stood by and let Hahn seek her out, she got all the surgeries she would have hounded her for before. She understood Hahn wanting to have Peters learn from his mistake. And, in hindsight, she kind of enjoyed watching…

Christina quirked an eyebrow as the resident began to crumble from stress and fear. She saw Callie come out of the x-ray room and stand by, watching the scene unfold. She noted the smirk on Callie's face and the way Hahn's body involuntarily relaxed as Callie took over directing Peters.

Dr. Peters bolted running back to the room with his tail between his legs. He shot back to the patient, shoving aside his elderly wife in his haste to sort through tubes and machinery. The wife was flustered, scolding the young man. But he didn't hear her; he was rushed, he was rude.

"Peters!" Christina barked. He jumped and froze in his actions. He beckoned him over soundlessly. "You need to calm down," She coached quietly, watching the couple re-gather their wits. They glared at the man in reproach."Go apologize and explain that it is you need to do. Ask them politely for permission to take him to the O.R."

The resident nodded nervously and sped off to his seemingly impossible task of appeasing the offended couple.

Christina turned back to the scene outside the room. Callie and Hahn were playing coy, flirting shamelessly as they did whenever they thought no one was watching. They never went far; no kissing or caressing just a wink or smile or nudge. They didn't overdo it which was key. To the unknowing eye, they could be best friends, simply play flirting as many friends do. But those who worked at the hospital knew the truth.

She found it ironic, the way she had longed so deeply for Hahn's approval. She had wanted nothing more than to be friends with Hahn… the way Callie was. Surely that would get Hahn to teach her? Christina thanked her insight five million times a day; that insight that had told her not to approach Hahn and demand what it was that Callie had that she didn't.

Thank you, dear God she hadn't asked that. Because she knew now what it was… and she didn't want it herself, thanks.

Still, she had gotten over Hahn's unmerited aversion to her. She'd dropped the issue. She had been so happy to rid herself of Dr. Dixon; she had hardly cared about Hahn's disposition.

And that had done it. Once she had stopped playing her way to the top. She'd found herself presented with surgeries. Sure, she and Hahn were far from friends but they were working together.

"Yang!" Christina spun around toward the voice. Hahn was standing in the room, giving her an odd look.

Christina shook her head lightly. She'd spaced out. Hahn turned back to the patient explaining how the procedure would play out in layman's terms.

The older man looked around Hahn's form after she'd finished speaking and addressed Christina. "It's okay to admit you were day dreaming. Dreams are all you have left at the end of the day."

Christina just nodded, not knowing what to say. The man's wife smiled at her warmly in that annoying, universal grandmother kind of way. Christina followed Hahn out the door, ignoring the second odd look Hahn had shot her way and left Peters to push the bed to the O.R. with an intern.

Yeah, people really weren't her thing.

_XXXXXXXXX_

_A/N 2: Well, I hope you enjoyed it. The story is going to take a slightly more serious turn so enjoy the fluff while you can :)_


	4. A Bad Day

_A/N: Back again. Okay, so I don't know when the next chapter will be up as it is super, super long and the school year starts Tuesday. Regardless, I shall do what I can. But for now, have this lovely thing. _

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx_

Erica was tired. She'd been called in at 12AM for an extremely complex and demanding procedure. They hadn't finished surgery until nearly 6 hours later by which time it had seemed pointless to go home.

So, she hadn't showered and she was running on three—going on four—cups of highly caffeinated coffee. She didn't seem to be dealing nearly as badly with it as Callie was though.

To be perfectly honest, sometimes Erica couldn't understand how Callie managed to do the job she did. The woman moved bones, literally. She endured the screaming, irritable and deformed patients almost all of whom projected their pain and discomfort onto Callie. Erica had only to put her patients under, saving her from any of those problems.

She deposited another dollar into the quick but disgusting coffee vending machine. As she filled the second cup—she'd figured Callie would want one—she thought about the three scheduled surgeries she had on her plate. Yeah, she was going to need even more coffee after this…

XXXXX

When Callie spotted Erica heading her way, the two cups of steaming coffee in her hands, she could have cried.

"Oh my god, I love you," she said, grabbing the hot cup of liquid before Erica had even fully extended her arm.

Erica chuckled, "I thought you might need the extra pick-me-up."

Callie looked at her disparagingly. "You have no idea."

She really didn't. Callie had been dealing with this hardass for little over six hours now. He had spent the better part of that time either staring at her ass or throwing pick up lines at her—you know, the cheesy, Google search ones with sexual connotations. She hated guys like that. Even before she'd been with Erica she had been revolted by them. She liked slick guys like Mark, the kind that were suave and sexy and a good guy on the side; or she liked sweet guys like George who couldn't help but be your best friend. The worse thing was, no matter how many times she assured him that she was taken and happily so, he would not give up. She was about ready to introduce the bastard to Erica—see how he liked having his heart ripped out for an unannounced organ donation. But Callie knew she wouldn't do that. She would leave Erica out of it. The poor woman was stressed enough as it was without relationship drama on top of everything. Besides, Callie could deal with it. She'd figure out some way to at any rate. Callie would suck it up. Soon enough, he would be stable and the physical therapist would take over—please, God, let it be some large, buff guy—and she would have to see less and less of the creep.

XXXXX

Erica walked quickly down the hallway, late for her appointed surgery prep. She was never late. She was Erica Hahn, for god's sake! She glanced around, dodging interns and residents and random nurse; only dimly aware of how ridiculous she must look. But at this point, she could not care less. She was late. There was no viable reason to delay herself simply to preserve whatever cool reserve she retained during the work day.

She was speeding past a main desk when she saw it: the scumbag. She stopped. All thoughts of her surgery left her mind. The only thing that concerned her now was him. She didn't know who he was. She frankly didn't give a damn to know. All she wanted to understand was why he thought he had the right to lay a finger on Callie.

Erica ground her teeth. She wasn't usually like this either. She could feel her blood pressure rising, hear pulse pound in anger. She shouldn't go in there. Callie could deal with it. She needed to let her fight her own fights. She shouldn't storm in there and rip his hand from his arms tendon by tendon. She shouldn't drag Callie out of there to an on-call room. She should not under no circumstances do any of those things. Oh, but she wanted to. Maybe she could just…

Someone nearby yelled "Surgery!" reminding her of her primary task. She glared once more through the glass walls at the man, grudgingly leaving him for her patient.

XXXXX

Callie was shocked; shocked and seriously pissed off.

She couldn't believe the gall of the man lying in the hospital bed behind her. Her eyes flashed with enger as she contemplated homicide. She, Callie Iphegenia Torres, did not get manhandled without consequences. She was not—contrary to popular rumor—a sexual object. She was not, nor ever had she been, some vapid piece of ass, open 24-hours a day for come-as-you-are business. She was a fucking surgeon.

The pustule of a man leered at her, ignoring all obvious signs of her anger. Callie grit her teeth. She couldn't blow up, she had to treat her… patient with care. She looked down at him, her face stiff with the effort to remove its instinctual scowl. She kept a safe distance between herself and the bed.

"Mr. Palmer—" she started, using every ounce of her self-control to force her voice to remain calm and pleasant.

"Please, its Mike." He corrected with his repulsive, oily voice.

Callie ignored his interruption. "I have to check that your legs are setting correctly. If the bones—"

"You know," he cut in again, "I don't even know your name."

His comment caught her by surprise. "My name is Dr. Torres, Mr. Palmer, I told you that."

He shook his head, smiling. "Mike, please. And I don't need your last name. Unless, of course" he chuckled, "Your first name is Doctor." He winked at her.

Callie felt like throwing up. She wanted to hurl his file into his stuck up face; to curl her lip and sneer at him. She wanted to get him the hell out of her hospital room. But, of course, she didn't do any of these things.

"I don't think you need my first name. Under these circumstances, I think it would be inappropriate for you to use it. You may call me Dr. Torres or you don't call me anything."

"You're what, Hispanic? So, how about Maria? No? Well, alright then. Anita? No… Am I getting close?" He started laughing, throwing more guesses as he gasped for air. He seemed to find the stereotypical choices to be increasingly amusing.

Callie balled her hands into fists. She was about to hurt him badly. She fantasized briefly about breaking every bone in his body—without anesthesia.

She walked over to his bound legs, removing the straps on the left. She placed her hands on the breakage point, not bothering to be gentle as she pressed down. Suddenly, Mike Palmer's shrieks of laughter turned to that of extreme pain.

"Yep. That one is setting just fine. Fantastic." She smiled brightly, at him as he lay there gasping in residual pain.

She replaced the cast and moved to the next leg. Palmer cringed, holding a hand protectively over it. Callie straightened herself, preparing to deliver the lecture again but he stopped her.

"Just… just tell me your name first."

Callie wrinkled her brow in confusion. "Why?"

Palmer relaxed onto the bed, smirking at her, "So I have something to scream out."

Callie felt her momentary euphoria vanish. She took a deep breath and wordlessly continued to undo his second cast. Ignoring his winces, she pressed down on his wounds once more, mercilessly. Again, his screams rent the air: music to her ears.

XXXXX

Callie dusted off her hands as she left the hospital room, a scowl on her face.

Bailey was watching her from the desk. "Torres, what the _hell_ were you doing in there?" She asked, shocked.

Callie glanced back into the room, her eyebrows raised in feigned surprise. Palmer was lying back in the bed, a thin sheen of sweat covering his exhausted form. Pain was bitch to handle. She shrugged to Bailey, "Working."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_A/N 2: Callie is a woman after m own heart :) That ending wasn't even originally written but I thought of it as I was rounding off the chapter. It seemed so perfect. _

_I like having Erica get jealous. I think it is realistic as Erica really and truly did feel affected when Callie originally slept with Mark... twice. Having her feel a surge of anger over a similar incident, even if it wasn't Callie's fault seemed right. Likewise, I like having Erica and Callie do the little fluffy things for each other. They acted that way as friends and it is utterly adorable. Yes, I might be drawing inspiration from Callie and Arizona clips but I think I keep it in correct characterizations so its all good._


	5. Another Bump in the Road

_A/N: So, yeah, sorry about the few week's hiatus. Anyways, we're back and as I promised, this is a long chapter. Enjoy :)_

_Keep an eye out for subtle or not-so-subtle homages to Calzona just for fun._

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

Erica sat at Joe's bar top debating with the drink list. She really didn't like liquor. She preferred the finer tastes of wine to a fiery burn. Besides the taste though, Erica hated the effects. She hated losing her control. On the other hand, she'd had a terrible day. Not to mention that that day had started at 12 AM. So she ordered the liquor.

Just as she thanked Joe for the very large shot of tequila, she felt someone slide onto the stool next to hers.

"I need some of that," Callie said sounding just as awful as Erica felt. Erica turned to her, raising an eyebrow.

Callie shot her a look, "Trust me. I need lots of booze."

Erica lifted her glass and toasted to that, wincing as the uncomfortable burn seared her throat.

"I had a patient today," Callie said her face scrunching as she downed a shot, "who was in a gymnastics tournament. She fell from the high bars and broke both shoulders." Erica winced again, partly in sympathy and partly from her second sip of tequila. "Then," Callie continued, "I had some asshole patient decide the hospital was a meat market and I was his slice of prime rib."

Erica nodded in understanding. "I had two patients die today. Both were inevitable but still…" Callie put her hand on Erica's back, rubbing her thumb in small, soothing circles. "And then," she said, looking at Callie, "Some prick sexually harassed my girlfriend."

Callie's soothing hand froze. She had obviously not seen Erica standing outside the room. She smiled softly, "Yeah, I wanted to rip his trachea out. He kept asking for my first name and touching me so I… uh… checked his breaks."

Erica couldn't help it. She laughed. Under any sort of normal circumstances, she would have been shocked. It was never okay to intentionally harm a patient—something she had no doubt that Callie had done. But this time, this time she was glad. In a way she felt a bit sick about the whole thing. It was hardly right for her to feel good about some poor man feeling excruciating pain simply because he found her girlfriend to be nearly as attractive as Erica thought she was. Still, he had harassed her.

"Well, how about this," Erica said, putting down her final shot. "I say we go to your place, have a hell of a time sleeping off the drunk and then we take your car to work tomorrow."

Callie looked down at the shot glass in front of her. She didn't look particularly happy to leave it but nodded her head anyway.

"Good." Erica said, happy to have made some sort of meaningful decision today.

XXXXX

The first thing that occurred to Callie was blinding pain. Her head throbbed to some unheard beat making her eye sockets ache. She moaned and instantly regretted it. Noise was bad.

Why the hell—Oh. Right. Tequila.

Callie wrenched her head off her drool-encrusted pillow. Ew. She hated hangovers. She fished through her end table drawer blindly, finally pulling out a pair of black, rhinestone sunglasses. She got up gingerly, each movement slow and sluggish. Her head jabbed angrily as her blood flowed around through her head.

She mumbled a few curses, shoving on the sunglasses and heading out to get coffee and water… and drugs.

The kitchen living room complex was already occupied with several people but Callie didn't care. Her head hurt.

Just as she reached the coffee post, reveling in the heat radiating from the glass container; Erica came out of the bathroom to crush her short-lived dreams.

"Oh no, not for you." She said, handing Callie instead a glass of some disgusting looking sludge.

Callie stared at it for a minute. Her head throbbed angrily again. Then, looking up at Erica through her shades she said in an expressionless voice, "What the fuck is this?"

In the background she heard someone burst into laughter.

Much to Callie's annoyance, Erica stood her ground, "It's for your hangover. Just don't ask what's in it."

Callie wrinkled her nose.

She did not want to drink it. It looked like sewage. Sewage was disgusting. But, her head hurt. A lot. She did not want that either.

She stood there for what seemed like forever, staring at the sludge as her mind spun in a million circles.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Erica tip back her own half-empty glass of slime. Callie took a deep breath. She could do this. It didn't look so hard… Hell, maybe it even tasted okay. She doubted it. Callie held the glass up to her lips and, tilting it, took in a mouthful.

Ew, ew, holy effing ew.

It was a potent mixture of dirty laundry, toenails and everything else gross left to rot in the sun for a day.

At the same time, Callie had to admit that the disgusting… liquid—it was liquid, wasn't it?—had cleared her head the littlest bit. She was still in pain but far less groggy.

Still… gross.

XXXXX

Owen Hunt sat nervously on the couch of Christina's apartment, feeling a little uncomfortable. He'd been to her apartment a number of times but never with quite so many people. He had never realized how many Seattle Grace doctors lived around her, all of whom seemed perfectly okay with entering and leaving each other's apartments without a second thought.

Currently, Owen found himself in a room with Christina eating a bowl of cereal and milk. Behind him on the couch was Mark Sloan, head of Plastics and Lexie Grey, the resident and current girlfriend of Sloan.

Just when he thought there were enough occupants, Erica Hahn, head of cardio stumbled into the room, looking a little worse for wear. He tried to ask if she was alright but she held up a hand, silencing him. Immediately, she went to work adding a series of seemingly random and eclectic ingredients into a blender.

Owen shot Christina a look. She didn't seem to care in the least, being far more occupied with whatever cheap toy was hidden in the cereal box.

As Erica turned on the blender, wincing at the sharp noise, he realized it was a hangover cure. It stuck him as faintly odd that someone as put together as Erica usually was would get drunk and hung-over.

He didn't ask her about it though. She took the blended concoction of what looked like green slime and divided it into two tall glasses. Apparently Erica spent the night often judging from her extensive knowledge of the kitchenware's whereabouts.

She grimaced as she swallowed some of the stuff.

"Disgusting," she said finally turning to the apartment's other occupants. "Good morning."

Sloan smirked at her, "Have a late night?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" She shot back effortlessly.

Owen had a feeling this was routine. Lexie laughed at Sloan, elbowing him in the ribs. Christina merely snorted, digging further into the cereal box.

"Hmm, clothes." Hahn said, thinking aloud. She left the room, mouthing soundlessly what was probably a to-do list for the day.

Owen couldn't help but feel a little residual guilt regarding his last off-duty encounter with Erica in the apartment. What had really astounded him was that they hadn't told Christina about it. In fact, as far as he could tell, they hadn't breathed a word about the incident at all. He hadn't told Christina himself. He couldn't imagine how vicariously mortified she would be. Hell, since it was Christina, he wouldn't have been surprised if she dumped him in support for her boss regardless of their none-too-close relationship.

Owen hardly had time to ponder this idea before someone entered the room that removed all other thoughts from his mind.

He was a man; a heterosexual man at that and as devoted as he was to Christina, he couldn't help but drop his jaw as the semi-undressed form of Callie Torres made her way across the room.

She was also hung over, if the surly disposition and sunglasses were to tell. She had on only a thin—and rather close fitting—t-shirt with her underwear. Panties, he supposed, were the popular term though why that was, he still didn't fully understand.

Whatever it was, she looked… good. Good and gorgeous and… grumpy. Her hair was rumpled and she trudged through the room taking no notice of anyone else present.

Owen broke his gaze on her, looking around him. He felt a little guilty until her noticed the matching looks of astonishment on all the nearby faces. Apparently this part but not normal…

Callie reached the coffee pot, a look of triumph crossing her mouth. Owen already pitied her work day. Before Callie could even lift the pot, however, Erica reentered impeccably dressed as per usual. She cut Callie off, offering her instead a glass of the… stuff.

Callie was not having it.

"What the fuck is this?" she asked Hahn.

Sloan burst into laughter. The noise broke the stunned atmosphere, startling Little Grey. Owen, too, became aware of the slow drip of milk descending from his spoon onto the linoleum counter. He hastened to wipe it up with a sheet of paper towel, ignoring Christina snickers. He kept an eye on the two women. He couldn't help but wonder, despite himself, who would win. Both were formidable opponents.

But Hahn stood her ground. She was resilient. Torres gave in, drinking the slime.

"She's got you whipped, Torres." Sloan called to her.

Callie threw her sunglasses at him. Even despite her hangover, she hit him squarely in the head.

"Callie," Hahn started as the orthopedic surgeon turned back to her. "As much as I enjoy your little, er… outfit, I think your patients would prefer you to be dressed."

Torres looked down at her pants-less self with mild interest, as if just realizing her state. Then, rather than running off to get dressed, as Owen would have expected, Callie shrugged. "I don't know," she said, "We might get more donors that way." She cocked her hip and winked at Erica.

Erica rolled her eyes and playfully smacked Callie on the side, "Go get dressed."

She watched her walk by her both amused and sardonic. Then, pausing to throw out a fake salute, Callie headed back to her room to put on clothing for the day.

"Whipped!" Sloan called to her.

"Bite me!" she replied from just inside her room.

Owen sat back in his barstool-chair. He was sure he would get used to it all the personal stuff even with the odd connection to his professional life. It was hectic and bizarre and ridiculous but he would deal with it. He looked at the dark haired woman beside him, pushing little pieces of stray cereal around the countertop and smiled. He would deal for her.

XXXXXXXX

Callie waited outside the hospital, her gown already tied and her pulse racing. She'd heard this was a big one. Her fellow surgeons pulsed with the same, electric energy; awaiting the ambulance's arrival.

Then, she heard it: the quiet ringing of the siren in the distance. Her heart began to beat just that much faster. Adrenaline started to rush through her system. Nothing compared to the high of saving lives. Smelling the blood and sweat, seeing the mangled limbs and gushing cut, figuring out the obscure and seemingly incurable medical mysteries; those were the reasons to be a surgeon. Taking all that mess and destruction and patching it up; that was surgery. That was her life. That was her job. She fixed things.

Callie was pulled from her silent reverie as she heard the siren grow closer. This was it!

She felt a tap on her shoulder. "Yeah, I know, exciting right?" She called back to whoever it was.

"No Dr. Torres, I came from a patient of yours. A Mr. Palmer?" Callie spun around, her high gone. Now the only rhythm her heart beat to was the steady jabs of irritation in her head.

"What? What about him?" She snapped. The poor girl who delivered the message looked at her, taken aback.

Other surgeons were turning to watch her. Callie knew her outburst was out of character, not to mention rude. Patients didn't normally make her react this way but he… he was unnerving. She never felt more freaked out by anyone in such a creepy way before. Every time she left his room she came out irrationally angry or feeling like some worthless piece of meat.

Normally, when she turned on her fear factor persona, men cowered in fear. If it worked on Mark Sloan, it should affect any man.

"He was asking for you exclusively." Said the young intern meekly.

Callie gaped at her. No. Not possible. This was not happening to her. She looked at Hunt, pleading. He shrugged. She turned back to the intern, her last card up her sleeve.

"I can't. There is a huge trauma load coming in and I need to stay and help here."

"You can go."

Callie stopped. She heard the words Hunt had said. She knew he had said them. And yet, it couldn't be true. It just couldn't. He wouldn't do that to her, would he? She needed the crushed bones, the release that came with shoving a hip back into its socket. That was her therapy! But he had said it. And he had meant it. Turning to her, Hunt shrugged apologetically, "We can handle it for now. Your patients have to come first. Go check on him and then you can run back down here to help out."

Callie glared at him. Damn it.

She tore at the strings of the surgical gown, none too gently removing the garment from her person. She shot one last—and completely unwarranted—glare at the intern and grudgingly left for the asshole's room, kissing her trauma haven goodbye.

XXXXX

Callie's bad mood only intensified as she entered the empty hospital room of Michael Palmer. What the hell was she being called down for if no one was even there? She was missing so much… With each useless minute she stood in that goddamn room, one more person was screaming in pain without the proper doctor available to fix his bones. While she did realize that the residents specializing in orthopedics could undoubtedly fix the minor fractures or dislocations, she also knew she was a damn fine doctor. The best doctor, in fact, for the job.

She looked around the room for the obviously missing patient. What _was_ she doing there? She walked around the room, rolling her eyes as she forced herself to look for the man. As she neared Palmer's bathroom next to the end of the bed, she called out, "Mr. Palmer! Jesus Christ… This is insane." She paused a moment, awaiting some sign of life from the deadly silent room. Scoffing, she turned to leave when an idea struck her: Palmer shouldn't be _able_ to leave at all. His physical therapy had not been completed and his legs were unable to fully support his weight. He shouldn't have been able to leave the bed let alone the room.

She shook her head. He must have been taken to a test, a last minute x-ray perhaps. Maybe the chief signed off on them…

She took in a breath. There was no logical reason for her to be worried. Hell, she should be ecstatic. He was gone. He was with someone else, getting treatment or something that was not her problem. She could go back down to the trauma nirvana now and forget about the whole inconvenient delay.

It was then that she heard it: the creaking coming from the bathroom door beside her.

What the—

The next thing Callie knew was pain as her head collided with the hard wall behind her. She felt a heaviness of a body pressing against hers. She couldn't focus. Her head swam and pounded making the lights flash.

She felt a mouth reach hers, a sour tongue force its way through her tightly closed lips. She couldn't breathe.

The body pressed down upon her, gripping at her hips. It was not out of desire but of necessity. Callie vaguely recognized Palmer's need to use her as an anchor to keep himself upright.

Callie forced herself to keep conscious. Her head was flooded with a dull roar that drowned out all else but Palmer's hot breath on her face. Her mind reeled and her body felt weightless, weak. Still, she kept awake if only barely. She forced a hand on her pager and pressed the well known buttons from memory.

_Hold on a little longer…_

He moved to her neck, the grip on her hips tightened and slipped lower. He was falling. Why was he falling?

She struggled slightly. If she could only get him off her…

She was slammed against the wall once more. Her back took in most of the shock but her resolve broke nonetheless. The last thing Callie noticed before she succumbed to unconsciousness was the relief of the pressure. Palmer's body released her, wrenching away.

Callie fell to the ground and knew no more.

XXXXXXX

Erica looked down at the pager. 911? Why would Callie page her for an emergency?

She wouldn't.

Erica apologized to her patient and rushed out the door, not thinking twice about her decision. She headed to the main desk. They would know where she was. The resident stationed at the desk pointed her to a nearby door. It was the patient who had assaulted Callie the day before.

Anger bubbled up in Erica as she headed into the room.

The sight that met her eyes would have, under normal circumstances, caused her to freeze in shock. As it was, Erica recognized Callie for the victim and every protective instinct within her flared to life. She could feel the rush of adrenaline pound through her veins as she took in a handful of the crippled man's hospital gown and pulled back. It wasn't hard to pull hi off, not nearly as hard as she'd been expecting. The patient's strength finally gave out and he fell back onto Erica. They landed onto the bed behind them.

Erica struggled from beneath his limp form and hurried to crouch next to Callie. She was out cold. Er pulse was strong but she may have a concussion…

The commotion of Erica's rescue had alerted several of the hospital staff. The are was flooded with doctors in no time.

Erica held onto Callie, for once not caring who saw them or what they thought. They didn't matter. All that mattered was that the beautiful, wonderful, unconscious woman before her was alright. She waited until Shepherd reached them. From then on, it was a blur. A mad, crazy, dizzying blur.

"Dr. Hahn, I need to see Callie." She heard Shepherd say. She didn't move. "Erica?" He covered her hand with his and she jerked out of her daze. Nodding, Erica let him escort Callie away. She felt her throat tighten.

She became dimly aware of a strong pair of arms leading her out of the patient's room—the crime scene, she now supposed it would be called—toward the on-call room.

"No." she protested but the adrenaline had worn off. Her energy had waned; weariness weighed down her eyes. "I have… I have to see Callie."

"I promise I will come and get you as soon as she wakes up. Sleep, Erica. You need it."

XXXXXX

Callie was tired of waking up with splitting headaches.

She blinked as a small, focused light entered her line of vision.

Her head throbbed angrily in response.

She let out a moan of pain.

"She lives!" Mark exclaimed from somewhere to her side. She winced. He was so loud. Why was he always so loud?

She couldn't figure out why she was lying down in a hospital bed, why she was being babysat by Mark and Lexie as the later checked her vitals.

Then, all at once, it came back to her

Shit.

"Erica?" she demanded of Mark. She was sure her rescuer had been Erica. He wanted it to have been Erica. Regardless of the identity, she noticed the absence of the woman with slight fear. What if she'd been hurt?

"Sleeping," Mark answered, smiling at her. "Tackling bad guys and recuing the damsel in distress is hard work, even if you are Erica Hahn.

Callie smiled—or tried to. It hurt her head to use the muscles of her face. It _had_ been Erica after all.

She needed to see her.

Throwing aside her bed sheets, Callie made to sit up… only to fall back again.

_So_ not a good idea.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Callie looked up. Derek Shepherd entered the room, carrying a clipboard. He was frowning at her information, slightly frustrated. That was never a good sign.

Shit, shit. Holy shit. She had brain damage. She wasn't even really alive. She was a vegetable, lying in bed, hallucinating reality because her brain had screwed up her signals…

"You are one lucky woman, Callie." Shepherd said, dropping her charts onto her lap.

"What?" She looked at her charts. Her test results showed… nothing.

She looked up at Shepherd. What was she supposed to be looking at? "There's nothing in these tests."

He smiled. "Exactly. Nothing. No hemorrhaging, no concussing, no damage: nothing."

Oh. Yeah.

"It's actually kind of a miracle." He continued, taking her charts back. "With your disorientation, I would have expected a lot of problems but you're fine. I suppose Palmer's stance wasn't strong enough to inflict any physical damage."

"He shouldn't have been able to stand up," Callie mused, "He hadn't gotten to that point in therapy yet."

"Nothing about this is normal, then." He admitted. Then, patting her shoulder, he smiled again. He was all over the McDreamy mode. "Get some rest." He said.

Callie frowned. She didn't want rest. She didn't want to sit there stuck with her ow thoughts. She knew if she did that, she'd be reliving the attack.

She threw her legs over the side of the bed once more, steeling herself for the wave of dizziness that would wash over her before the fact. It wasn't as bad this time. The painkillers must have set in. She ignored Mark's irritable commands that she lie back down. She instead stood up.

"I'm going to find Erica." She said defiantly.

"Callie Torres, get back in that bed before—"

"Before what, Mark? You heard Shepherd. I am completely fine. I can walk and talk and I'm going to go get my woman. Then," She added as an afterthought, "I'm going back to work."

"Like hell you are! I _did_ hear Shepherd. He wanted you to get rest. Callie?"

She ignored him and left the room. She'd deal with his crap later.

She turned a lot of heads walking down the hallway. She probably looked like shit. It was a good thing there were mirrors in the on-call rooms. She didn't need to scare patients while resetting their bones.

She peered into the first on-call room. Empty. The next one was further down the hall.

She looked through the small window on the door. There was a still body lying on one of the lower beds. Callie opened the door silently. Erica was curled up in a bed furthest from the door.

She didn't want to wake her but, naturally, the hospital staff had other ideas. A janitor rolled their squealing cart down the hall; the loud sound reverberated through the room.

Erica started. When she spotted Callie, a bleary smile came over her features. "Hi… I thought you were out of it."

Callie sat next to her, "I just woke up."

Erica wrinkled her brow. Her sleep-induced confusion was adorable. Callie grinned.

"But… shouldn't you be resting?"

Callie stretched out, encircling Erica with her arms and snuggling into the contact. "I am."

Erica smiled lightly, reveling in the warmth blossoming across her back.

XXXX

Callie was about to bust some heads. She was getting sick and tired of the pity looks from her coworkers. She swore up and down that the next time she heard "Are you sure you should be working?" she would throw a rogue scalpel into someone's trachea.

She thought her teeth might fall out of her face when the chief came up during the day, _in front of a patient_, to suggest that she take a few days off. The look on her face had been enough to freeze hell itself and Chief Webber wisely decided to leave the suggestion on the table and bolt for his life.

Even now, with the irritated looks Mark kept sending her way, Callie knew she needed to vent and quick.

She had to find Erica.

The woman in question was inspecting the surgical board, memorizing her schedule.

Callie walked up to her, groaning. Erica raised an eyebrow as she glanced over at Callie following her outburst.

"Are you okay?" She asked in that voice of someone who knows very well the wave of angst they are about to hear.

Callie in return gave her a "Are you fucking kidding me?" look.

Erica watched her, worried. "Callie," she started, clearly reluctant to say whatever the hell it was she wanted to say. "I was thinking recently about something. I've been in therapy with Dr. Wyatt, you know, and I thought maybe you could come to one of my sessions… I was talking to her about this whoel thing and—"

"Wait," Callie interrupted her," You talk about me in your therapy?" she was in shock. Erica knew how she felt about therapy! Callie didn't want some stranger poking around in her deepest, darkest secrets to reveal to her some hidden message that wrapped up her life. She talked to Mark and Erica not some "doctor" who took all your money and answered your questions with questions. But, hey, now at least Erica was doing the hard work for her. She blabbed about her secrets for her. Maybe the shrink had even explained Callie's mind frame to her…

Erica's face was shocked. "Of course I talk about you. You're a huge part of my life." She said this as if it was obvious. Bull shit.

Callie gaped at her. She wasn't even apologizing. Callie knew she was blowing things out of proportion but it was _her_ life being revealed, _her_ secrets. She had told Erica thing that she had never told anyone else before and she did not want those private details running through Wyatt's head. Jesus Christ, the woman probably knew about their sex life!

Callie shook her head at Erica, suddenly disgusted. Erica was the one who always needed to be so "private." _She_ was the one who got uncomfortable with Callie talking about their relationship. _She _was the one who got all defensive around Mark of all people if he asked about them as a couple. It was Erica who was uneasy about revealing their relationship to strangers. They were strangers, who cared if they saw them kiss? But, no. That was not okay. It wasn't alright to be an open couple, to be expressive. But it _was_ apparently just fine to discuss private things with someone who analyzed crazy people for money. Yeah, that was fair, it made perfect sense.

Callie heard Erica call her name exasperatedly as she turned to leave but she gave no notice. She ust walked away.

Great, just fucking great. Now she had no one to vent to.

XXXX

Christina looked up from her charts, her eyes wide in shock at the raging Latino woman beside her. Callie Torres had just waltzed on up to her and blew up. Christina hadn't known what to do. Callie never vented to her. That was what Mark and Hahn were for. She eyed Callie as she paced back and forth before her.

"I'm not incompetent!" Callie seethed aloud. "I didn't even get a concussion! I'm _fine_! So why won't they just get off my back and stop treating me like a fragile little baby? This is not the PEDs ward!"

Christina frowned. Really? People cared about Callie, that's why. That and the fact that an attack like that normally left some sort of psychological damage and people don't just jump back from that.

"Why do you care what they say?" She asked Callie. "You can work, so work. Whining about it only proves to them that you can't handle it."

Callie stopped, shocked into silence. Then, just as Christina tensed, readying herself for one major orthopedic beat-down, Callie nodded and walked away.

Huh.

Whoever said she couldn't be a good influence must have been sorely mistaken after all…

XXXX

Erica felt awful. She knew Callie's outburst wasn't her fault that Callie had been more than unreasonable and yet she still hated the burning guilt in her stomach.

She hadn't meant to offend Callie but, really? What did she think Erica talked about? Callie was her whole world. She was Erica's cause for happiness, sadness, stress and relief. It was all-encompassing. If she didn't talk about her, their relationship would have been screwed up long before now.

She ran a hand down her face. She was exhausted. The attack, the fight, three surgeries—the day had been a long one.

She had two hours of free time, two hours to sleep.

She headed to the lounge. She would sleep there. Mark had been missing a while and she did not need her suspicions of where he was to be confirmed by bursting in on him playing doctor in an on-call room.

She opened the door to the attending surgeon's lounge and froze at the sight before her: Callie was curled up on the couch, her head in her hands, tears streaming down her face.

All irritation and arguments left her mind. Her protective side overruled them all. She was next to Callie, holding her, comforting her in seconds. Callie folded into her embrace almost instantly.

"I know you don't believe in therapy. I know you're uncomfortable with the idea of someone analyzing you, I get that. But when I talk about you, I'm not having you analyzed. I want to figure you out on my own, with your help. When I'm in therapy I'm figuring me out. I talk about you because I love you. You are a part of me as I hope I am you. Dr. Wyatt looks at things through my reactions; she helps me figure them out. I wasn't trying to offend you by inviting you to a session, I wanted to integrate you into another aspect of my life. It'd be my session still but you would be there, you would see me there. I can't promise you that Wyatt will ignore you or not ask you questions but… it wouldn't be about you. It would be for me. Erica looked at Callie. The woman in her arms was watching her, tears stopped. There was an odd expression of wonder on her face.

"But now," she admitted, shaking her head to control the tears that threatened to break through. "Now you're struggling—you are, don't try and deny it. I can't stand it. I can't bear to see you in here crying. It kills me. And, I know you don't want to deal with things this way but I think you should talk to her. I think you should talk to her for you. You keep shrugging this off but it's not working. Whatever it is that is bugging you is not going away and I want you to fix it. I want to help you fix it. If that makes me the bad guy then so be it. I'm sorry you feel that way but I refuse to take any of it back because I do love you and I do want you to be able to be happy."

Callie was quiet. Erica could hear her breathing against her neck.

"Yes," she said faintly.

"What?"

"Yes, I'll go to your therapy session."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_A/N 2: Phew! A LOT happened in that chapter! And, a lot happens in the next one. Which might take just as long to write (sorry). Tell em how you like it!_


End file.
